No Shit Sherlock
by AmyTFloyd
Summary: Joan had not been aware that her desire to stay with Sherlock had been anything more than just sadness at one of the most interesting times in her life coming to an end. Then everything had gone to hell and Sherlock had sat on the couch at the station and told her he'd miss her.
1. Chapter 1

Hello Friends! So I've started a new story. Not sure how long it will go or where I'm headed, but I love Johnny Lee Miller! So here is my adaptation of his life/relationship with the lovely Lucy Lu as Joan Watson. Please let me know what you think. If there is no interest then I may not continue it. Thanks & Enjoy!

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Joan was sitting on the couch looking through the file on her lap. Her heart wasn't really in it, but Sherlock needed to keep busy. After everything that had happened the last thing they needed was for him to get bored. He was already moody and morose; he couldn't seem to decide if he'd done the right thing by letting 'M' turn himself in. She might not be able to deduce like he could, but she could tell by his lack of nervous energy that he was still very upset. Usually he was up; pacing while deep in thought or striding purposefully as he went to find something or other that would supposedly help him in whatever mystery he was solving at the moment. But now he sat on the floor, back against the couch, wrapped in a blanket, barely moving. While it was peaceful, it was also alarming.

"What about this one about the woman who suddenly disappeared? I would have guessed it was the husband, but they checked out his alibi and he seemed genuinely concerned about her." She said. When she didn't get an immediate response she added, "I know it's already been a year, but it might be nice to keep busy." He let out a huff. "It wasn't the husband. It was his mistress. Tired of wondering if her lover would ever leave his wife, she took the woman, killed her, and left her in the unfinished building on 12th where the police finally found the body due to an anonymous tip."

Joan was used to hearing Sherlock summarize confusing cases as if it was child's play, but this one felt a bit fantastical. "There wasn't anything about a mistress in the file." She stated flatly. "Of course not, but it was a simple jump after looking at all the photographs they took of the husband while he was under surveillance. He was constantly in the company of one Moira Martin; the police failed to recognize their relationship due to her previous friendship with the couple. However, the body was found in the building where Mrs. Martin was opening her new travel agency and the wife was her interior decorator."

"Couldn't it all be a sad coincidence?" Joan asked. It sounded too horrible to conceive. "Absolutely," replied Sherlock, "it was the fact that Mrs. Martin and Mr. Levitt left the country shortly after the body of his wife was found that sealed it for me. They were married, in Paris, only a month later." He didn't look back at Joan with that 'I told you so' look he often gave her when he'd finished explaining how he had been right. Joan simply sighed and closed the file. There were only a handful left in the box; he'd already figured out the rest.

She was about to reach for the next one, intent on getting this insufferable man out of his funk, when he got to his feet. Keeping the blanket around him, he turned to look at Joan. "I realize that you have made quite a sacrifice in order to stay on here; to look after me, but I assure you I will not relapse. Therefore, you are no longer bound to stay. You've already passed up your next client and gone a week without pay."

Joan was about to protest. He had seemed to believe her when she'd told him that his father had agreed to let her stay with Sherlock. But she knew that he'd figured it out somehow, denying it wouldn't get them anywhere. "When did you sort it out?" She asked. "Almost at once." He gave her a sad smile before continuing. "My father, while quite wealthy, is a spendthrift. He would not allow you to stay on. If I relapsed it would be back to rehab for me and if I did not, well, then there would be no use for you." They looked at each other a moment when he added, "Plus, you weren't able to look me directly in the eye that whole day."

"Why didn't you just call me out on it then?" Joan couldn't understand how he had let nearly a week go by without bringing this up. "I was right. You wanted to stay here and continue our, my, work. You did not, however, wish to admit that for unknown reasons. I believed that if I let you deceive me, that you would eventually choose to stay for good. I realize now, that I was misguided. You are staying because you fear that I will lose myself in my obsession. While I understand your concern based on my behavior a fortnight ago, it is unfounded and unnecessary. I have resolved not to allow my personal feelings to muddy the water when it comes to this man, Moriarty. I give you my word."

Joan had not been aware that her desire to stay with Sherlock had been anything more than just sadness at one of the most interesting times in her life coming to an end. It had been frustrating and exhausting, but also exhilarating. She'd also come to truly care about Sherlock Holmes. He was unusual and, at times, infuriating, but he was fascinating and she enjoyed him more than she liked to admit. So when the six weeks had been up she was ready to leave. Then everything had gone to hell and Sherlock had sat on the couch at the station and told her he'd miss her. It meant so much to her that when his father had turned down her request to stay she'd lied and done so anyway. It grated a bit that Sherlock had been aware of all of this; that he had allowed her to stay in her lie for her own pride's sake, but now the illusion was out in the open and she just had to admit it.

"Perhaps part of my decision is because I worry about you, but you were right. I didn't want to admit that being a sober companion wasn't as fulfilling as I made it out to be. So, I'm staying if that is still alright with you." She couldn't help but smile and it widened when he returned with one of his own. "Of course, Watson, I hardly want to admit that having you with me makes me better at my job, but it is true. Plus, your beginner deductive skills are quite good. I find teaching you is really very rewarding." He turned from her, the conversation being over in his mind, and made his way upstairs. Joan liked to think that there was a new lightness to his step and the hunching of his shoulders had subsided.

There were so many things to consider, like how were they going to make any money, but Joan was staying and she hadn't felt so happy in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

__Hello Everyone! I want to thank you for all the follows and favorites. It's very kind of you. I'm feeling my way through this chapter by chapter, so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them. Please review! I really want to hear your thoughts. Thanks & Enjoy!

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_I hadn't realized that at least part of Sherlock's depression had to do with _

_the possibility that I wouldn't stay. He had been trying so hard to convince_

_me to continue on, but I had brushed it off as his fear. Now, seeing how he's_

_back to normal overnight, I know that while he was disappointed at the turn_

_of events with 'M', his behavior was mainly him dealing with the idea of my _

_leaving. _

It had been a bit over a month since Joan had officially decided to join Sherlock in the consulting business. Life had been more of a roller coast than ever due to their shortage of funds. Sherlock received an allowance that covered all his necessities and some of hers, but the expenses for his experiments, bees, and the random equipment he brought home now and again were adding up. Even the money they'd made when Sherlock had found the secretary murderer for Canon Ebersole was dwindling.

Joan had tried to get Sherlock to take their money problems seriously, but he never seemed to care. "There will always be another case in need of our attention. Surely one will offer monetary reimbursement." His nonchalant attitude was really starting to piss her off. So she'd decided to get a job; that was why she was up at 6 AM getting ready to head to her first interview in a long time.

Forty-five minutes later she entered the clinic. It was only three blocks away from the brownstone she shared with Sherlock, but she had stopped at a coffee shop and to go over the pros and cons of reentering the medical field. True, it wasn't the type of medicine that required her to have a license. She wasn't ready to get back into it in that depth. Honestly, she wouldn't have chosen to work, in any capacity, in a medical clinic, but they needed the money and it was the only job she had found that gave her the flexibility she needed to work cases with Sherlock. Trying to keep the necessity of a job in the forefront of her mind, Joan had continued on to the clinic where she was now waiting to be called for her interview.

The coordinator ushered her into his office; the rest of the clinic was already busy and it was clear the place was under staffed. "Good Morning Doctor Watson. I'm intrigued that an ex-surgeon would consider working in a place like this." Michael Banner was his name according to the name plate on his overcrowded desk. "I'm not technically a doctor anymore." Joan replied, ducking her head and pushing her hair behind her ears. "I let my license expire last year while I was working as a sober companion." He nodded and flipped through some papers. "Look," he said, leaning back and giving her a level, scrutinizing gaze. "I did a little digging into your background myself and I want you to know that what happened on your operating table was a complete fluke. No one blamed you for that, not really."

Joan did not know how to respond to this line of conversation. She was aware that the suspension she'd been put on was a technicality. The director at the hospital had been shocked when Joan had told him that she would not be returning to surgical duties. She remembered clearly his words to her. "Joanie, people die and sometimes, however tragic, it's on our watch. You were not at fault. It's awful, but you are a good surgeon and with your skill you could save many lives. Please reconsider." It had touched her how genuine he'd been, but she couldn't go back. It just wasn't an option.

"We need all the help we can get and even though you aren't licensed your expertise would be a heaven sent." Dr. Banner was speaking again. "There will be things that you won't be allowed to do, for insurance purposes, but we would be lucky to have someone to help with diagnostic work." Joan smiled and nodded. After a moment, he continued, "If you decide to renew your license we would absolutely love to have you on full time staff."

When she left thirty minutes later, Joan had a job. She was sure it wouldn't be very interesting, but they needed the money. She picked up coffee and croissants and was home a bit before 8. She deposited their breakfast on the kitchen table and called out to her housemate. "Sherlock, I brought breakfast home. It's on the table." She ran upstairs, upon opening the bathroom door Joan almost fell over. "Sherlock!" She gasped, whirling around. When she made to look at the wall, she saw his reflection in the mirror. He was standing in the shower completely naked. Joan blustered around trying very hard not to look in his direction. Finally, her hand landed on a towel and she thrust it at him. "What are you doing?" She fairly yelled at him.

Sherlock seemed, while a little flustered, to be taking the whole thing in stride. He used the towel to dry off while speaking to Joan's back. "I do not know why you are angry with me, Watson, I was in the shower and you are the one who barged in."

"Fine! I'm sorry!" Joan gritted her teeth, but couldn't help but say, "But why are you in the shower now? You're usually up and around already?" She was inching her way over to the cabinet to grab some aspirin, which was what she had entered the bathroom for, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. "Of course, you're right. But this morning as I was working with the bees I got quite filthy, so I was just cleaning up." He had stepped out of the shower and was standing in the middle of the room with the towel wrapped around his waist. As Joan, who had refused to look in the mirror, turned around she bumped right into him. "God!" she jumped back. They stood looking at each other for a long moment. She couldn't help but notice how muscular he was and, while she had never found tattoos particularly alluring, his seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders, lean torso, and muscular arms. Joan had not allowed herself to see Sherlock in this way since their first meeting. He'd caught her so off guard with that profession of love and then when she'd realized it was just a memory exercise she'd been confused and, now that she let herself think of it, a little let down.

"There is no need to be embarrassed. This sort of thing is bound to happen now and again when one's flatmate is of the opposite gender. I'm certain one day we'll be able to call it even." With that, he reached around her to grab his clothing and left the room. Joan was left feeling foolish and praying that she would remember to always lock the door whenever she was in any state of undress.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey All! Thanks for the reviews; getting an e-mail with a review is one of my favorite things. I hope you like this chapter; it is setting up for something I think will be funny/cute. Also, I structured my character Michael Banner after the actor Richard Armitage (Just for looks). Look him up if you've never heard of him, he's gorgeous. Let me know your thoughts. Thanks & Enjoy!

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It was late afternoon on Friday and Joan was surrounded by boxes of back files. She let out a long sigh, but couldn't completely suppress a smile as she listened to the receptionist and one of the nurses talk about the most pleasing physical attributes of Dr. Banner. It was true; he was tall with wavy, almost black hair and piercing blue eyes. He had a sharp nose and a strong jaw that was always covered with stubble. There was no woman who could ever deny that he was a total hunk.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, Michael Banner leaned into the room. "Joan," he said, startling her. "I have a Mrs. Ethel Jacobs in room 3. She's complaining chest and abdominal pain. I was wondering if I could get your opinion." Joan dropped the files onto a large stack and followed him through the hall. Before they entered the room, the doctor stopped to look down at her. "She's 72 and has a history of heart problems, including a bypass surgery five years ago. She's convinced she's having a heart attack, but all the blood tests we've done show her white blood cells to be fine." Joan nodded. "Has she had a urine test?" Instead of answering her, Banner just handed her a file and disappeared back down the hall. Joan was confused. _Was she supposed to go in there by herself?_

She was looking through the file, trying to get a sense of what he might think the problem was when he returned holding out a white lab coat and a stethoscope. Joan looked at him with shock on her face. "I can't…." "Of course you can." Dr. Banner interrupted. "She's an old woman who doesn't want to hear that she isn't having a heart attack. She doesn't believe me. I want you to figure out what's wrong with her and then convince her of it. If she thinks you're a doctor that would be helpful." Joan was trying to question this plan, but he was helping her with the coat, draping the stethoscope over her shoulders, and bundling her through the door. "Uhh…Good afternoon Mrs. Jacobs."

An hour later, Joan had ushered Ethel Jacobs into a cab headed for the hospital. Joan had also called to make an appointment for her with a surgeon friend. They had decided that it was probably the woman's appendix and she was to have a cat scan immediately. Dr. Banner smiled mischievously at her as they reentered the clinic. "What?" She asked nervously. "You enjoyed that. I could tell." He held open the door for her. "I'm just glad I could help." Joan smiled. "She was a very nice woman."

As they were all getting ready to leave, Joan went to his office to give him a quick update she had received regarding Mrs. Jacobs. "Dr. Banner," she said as she knocked and poked her head in the door. "Please, Joan, call me Michael. Everyone does, including some of the patients." He looked up from his paper work and smiled at her. "Is it time to go already?" Joan smiled, remembering how easy it was to get caught up in the details of some medical query or another. "I just wanted to tell you that my friend, Dr. Hall, said that Mrs. Jacobs is scheduled for surgery tonight. It was definitely her appendix." Michael nodded as he gathered his coat and bag. "I'm glad to hear it. She'll be fine after it's out."

They walked about a block together when he turned to her and asked. "Do you have plans you need to get to?" She looked puzzled, but answered truthfully. "I work with my housemate who is a consulting detective for the NYPD, but he hasn't called to say we've got a case, so I guess not." It was his turn to look surprised. "Wow! You are such an intriguing woman, Ms. Watson. Have coffee with me." He pointed across the street to a small café. Joan felt a little awkward. _Was this a date or just colleagues getting to know one another?_ "Sure." She said.

It was nearly 9 when Joan finally got back to the brownstone. It had been a delightful evening. They had talked about medical school and residency; about the clinic and even a little about Sherlock and her time as a sober companion. Michael seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk about her career as a surgeon, how it had ended, or whether she would ever return to it. Joan was smiling and she knew she had to pull herself together if she wanted to avoid alerting Sherlock. _Too late for that_. As soon as she walked in the door, she heard him let out a loud huff. He was sitting in his armchair, looking extremely put out. "Where have you been? You get out of work at 6 and it takes only fifteen minutes to walk home." He was up, looking at her closely. _Here it comes_. She thought, but before she could say anything he started in. "Coffee and dinner…with someone no doubt….a man…handsome…hmmm…" Joan used his brief pause to jump in. "Yes, I went out with a coworker from the clinic. Did you need something? You didn't text me about a case." Sherlock looked annoyed. "No, I did not NEED you. I simply noted that you had broken routine and I was starting to wonder where you might be." She couldn't help but smile at him now. "You were worried about me."

"No." He started firmly, but she insisted. "That's very sweet of you Sherlock. I'll try to remember to let you know if I'm going out. I didn't realize you kept such a close eye on my comings and goings." She smiled wider, trying not to laugh at his obvious discomfort at being called out. He didn't like to admit that he had emotions or that he cared about anyone. It was nice to know that he did in fact care about her.

He looked ready to explode in a fit of discomfort, so she went over, laying a hand on his arm, she said. "Really. I do appreciate it." He tensed, then relaxed under her touch. They looked at each other for a moment before he nodded. "Yes, well…I'd better go sort out something for dinner. I was waiting for you." Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen and Joan couldn't help but let a small laugh escape.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been three week since Joan and Michael had first gone out and since then it had become more frequent. She found him charming and thoughtful; all the employees and patients loved him. They hadn't been out on a real date, but he'd asked her out for dinner or drinks every day they worked together. Joan wasn't sure exactly where things were headed, but it was very clear that Dr. Banner was interested in her and she couldn't help but reciprocate that interest.

She was at the clinic, fulfilling her one Saturday a month commitment. It wasn't so bad since she only worked Wednesdays and Fridays and some Mondays. It left plenty of days for her to consult with Sherlock. Although Captain Gregson was still using Sherlock as a consultant, it seemed to Joan that he only called Sherlock for the truly difficult cases and was firmer about keeping him out of scenes he wasn't invited to. That left them with days to fill. Sometimes they would go to the park or sit on the roof, but Sherlock had been considering putting his services up for hire. Joan figured he liked the idea of being able to pick and choose what cases he would take.

"Joan." Lynn, the receptionist, put her head into the file room. "There's a man here asking for you." The younger woman looked unsettled and Joan couldn't think why. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"He's just a little…pushy." Lynn tried to be delicate. Joan felt her heart drop. _God! Why would Sherlock come here?_ All she said was, "Is he British?" Lynn nodded, and then added, "And cute."

When she came into the waiting area she saw Sherlock pacing the room. "What are you doing here?" Joan grabbed his arm and drug him through the hall and back into the filing room. "I came to see what you found so compelling about this place. You have spent more and more time here with every passing week and yet you rarely speak about it." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's my job." Sherlock had walked around the room, inspecting the place as he went. "Is this all you do?" he asked as he held a file aloft between two fingers as if it were dirty. Joan felt her irritation rising. She grabbed his arm, taking the file, and propelled him out the door. _I have to get him out of here before I kill him._ "You can't be here, especially if all your going to do is insult me. Go home." Sherlock stopped in his tracks, bring Joan to a halt in her attempt to pull him out of the clinic. "Watson, I had no intention of offending you. I simply do not understand how this place has become such a priority for you. You have a brilliant diagnostic mind and it has become even sharper as a result of learning my deductive reasoning. This job does not have the necessary difficulty to be truly challenging."

Joan turned to him; as irritated as she was, she knew he was being sincere. "I'm helping people. Isn't that enough?" He looked like he was trying to decide if that was true. Just as she thought she'd gotten him safely out the door, Michael walked up. He was just arriving for his shift and he called a greeting. Joan groaned internally; the last thing she needed was for this potential boyfriend to meet her abrasive housemate. But in typical style, Sherlock had sniffed out what she didn't want and did exactly that. He was introducing himself to Michael before Joan could blink.

"Hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes; I live with Joan." He extended his hand to the doctor. Michael took it saying, "Joan has told me a little about you. Your work sounds fascinating." Sherlock puffed up his chest. "It can be." He mused. "I'm sorry," he continued, "I'm not sure who you are. Joan almost never speaks of her work here at the clinic." Joan couldn't help but feel that Sherlock was trying to establish himself as the more important one in her life. It didn't help that Michael looked a little disappointed to learn that Sherlock had no idea who he was, but he responded. "I'm Michael; head physician here."

After some small talk, Sherlock finally excused himself, but not before telling Joan (loud enough for Michael to overhear) that he would be making an early dinner for them. "We can enjoy dinner on the roof; there is supposed to be a meteor shower this evening and I would like to record some data for my research."

The rest of that day was extremely awkward. Michael seemed to be avoiding her and Joan couldn't shake the feeling that Sherlock had been staking a claim or marking his territory in some insane way. For starters, showing up at her work was completely out of character; Sherlock was self-centered, not concerned about the goings on of others. Also, he had never called her by her first name so much. Joan couldn't decide if she was angry, flattered, or concerned that he was so attached to her that he needed to be the sole object of her attention.

When she got back to the brownstone that evening, Joan was not prepared for what greeted her. The table had been completely cleared of all Sherlock's locks and files, the small sitting room looked like it had been ransacked, and the kitchen was a disaster area. Sherlock was no where to be found. She made her way upstairs and, when she didn't find him there, went on up to the roof.

It was just starting to get dark, but Joan could see clearly due to the flood light attached to the bee hive. She saw that the small coffee table had been brought up to be used as a table; the cushions from the couch were on the ground and there was a large bowl of unrecognizable food. Sherlock was standing to the side looking through his telescope. Joan had no idea what to think or do, but luckily he did not give her time to react. "Ah, Watson." He smiled at her and motioned her over. "I did not expect you so soon, but I am glad you're here. The meteor shower will begin any moment; these things are one of the most beautiful things in the scientific world. It would be a shame to miss it." Thinking it best not to ask questions, she complied silently.

The next half hour was spent watching nature's show of beauty. Sherlock, unable to keep from showing off his knowledge, explained the how and why of meteor showers and then proceeded to tell her about his experiment. She listened and watched him. He seemed fine, normal; she couldn't figure out what was happening. This seemed so out of context for their normal relationship and yet he didn't seem at all nervous. It made her more confused as to how to handle things.

After they had finished eating, they sat staring up at the stars. Joan had gone down to the kitchen to make them tea, which they sipped on to fight the growing chill in the air. Suddenly, Sherlock was up, gathering the things he'd taken from the townhouse, heading back inside. Joan called out before she could think it through. "What are you doing?" Sherlock looked perplexed. "I'm returning the furniture to its proper place; you wouldn't want it to get wet." Of course he would know what the weather was supposed to be, but it just didn't make sense. "But you did all this…for what?" She stammered. He looked at her as if she was being dense. "Watson, I simply wanted to enjoy the evening…with a friend. Now, be a dear, bring those last cushions please."


	5. Chapter 5

Things had settled into a semi normal routine. As normal as possible when one's partner was constantly charging off after some criminal or another. But it seemed calm to Joan nonetheless. She and Sherlock would entertain perspective clients on Mondays and Tuesdays. Joan went to the clinic on Wednesdays and Fridays and all the rest of her time was spent in a car staking out a suspect or in the brownstone combing through files, papers, and other pieces of 'evidence'. It was almost boring. Almost.

Honestly, nothing could be boring with Sherlock. Nothing was ever what it had seemed at first sight. It was the late night conversations (debates more like) that kept her from getting tired of this life. Watching him come to those "Aha!" moments and sometimes helping him get there gave her an indescribable satisfaction. Joan found that, while she still required him to attend meetings and spend time with his sponsor, she was less and less concerned with his sobriety. He had a will unlike any she'd ever encountered before. Sherlock had decided that he would stay clean and he was determined to remain so. Joan was confident that he would succeed.

It was due to this confidence that Joan believed that their arrangement, their life together, would work. She no longer worried about him when she was at the clinic or when she went out with Michael. It was a huge relief to have some semblance of a real life. And yet she had to admit that she was never quite as happy as when she and Sherlock were elbow deep in some case; bouncing ideas off one another and solving mysteries that had once puzzled them both was rewarding and fun.

She was learning so much from Sherlock and it was changing every facet of her life. He had once said that once your knew the art of deduction their was no shutting it off and it made interpersonal relationships difficult. Joan now understood what he meant. She was always noticing things that she realized other people wouldn't want her to point out. It was even interfering in her budding relationship with Michael.

For about three weeks after Sherlock had shown up unannounced at the clinic things had been awkward and stilted between Joan and the doctor. He had been polite and warm, but distant. At first Joan had been so upset with Sherlock that she had almost wrung his neck. Then, just around the time that she had decided it was better not to get involved with one's coworker let alone one's boss, out of nowhere Michael had asked her to dinner.

It was an extremely uncomfortable dinner until he decided to just come right out with it. "Are you involved with Sherlock?" He had asked the question in a nonchalant manner, but the way he kept avoiding eye contact told Joan that he was nervous. "No," she replied. "we live and work together, but that is all. I know it might seem a little strange, but there is nothing going on between us."

Michael visibly relaxed, but Joan could tell by the intensity of his stare that they weren't out of the woods yet. "Are you sure he doesn't want there to be…" he paused "_something_ between you?"

This was a question that Joan had been expecting. She had thought it over herself at some length. While she couldn't deny that his appearance at her place of employment and their subsequent dinner had been most unusual and suspicious, she couldn't find anything else to support the idea that Sherlock had feelings for her. She'd examined his behavior towards her and outside of a few out of the ordinary events, come to the conclusion that, at the most, Sherlock liked to have her time and attention on him and their mutual detective work. It seemed likely that he saw Dr. Banner as an unnecessary diversion. _Well, he'll just have to deal with it._

"I know that Sherlock's little stunt must have looked that way, but he has never indicated to me _in any way_ that he would like our relationship to be more than friends." When she noticed that Michael looked dubious, she added. "I know him pretty well; I think I would know if that were the case."

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"You're looking very smug." Sherlock looked up from the lock he was attempting to open to give Joan an analyzing glance. "Been out with that twat again?" Joan narrowed her gaze at him before saying, firmly. "If you're referring to Michael, then yes, we had dinner."

"How interesting…" he sniffed, as if it were about the least interesting thing in the world. "I had thought that whatever was between you two had been ended. You haven't been home late in nearly a month." Sherlock kept his head down, eyes on the lock in his hands, as he spoke to Joan. When she laughed, his head snapped up to look at her. His bewildered look only made her laugh harder. "And what, may I ask, is so amusing?" Quickly, Holmes replaced the confusion with a look of mild irritation. It was the look he gave her when he felt she was being silly and it always made Joan feel like a child. She hated it.

"I was laughing," she began, "because you came to the clinic to try and put an end to my relationship with Michael. But it backfired. He wants us to start seeing each other seriously."

She couldn't be certain, but Joan thought she saw a flash of real anger cross her friend's face. It was gone, supplanted by a look of offense, quickly. "Watson, I am pained that you believe this of me." Joan wasn't buying it. "Look! I know that solving crime is your life's work and you give all your energy to it, but I want a life! You were annoyed because I'd started spending more and more time doing other things. I'm sorry I wasn't focused. I'll need to learn balance, but I promise I won't let my relationship with Michael get in the way."

The lock popped open and Sherlock tossed it on the table, getting up without giving it a second glance. As he disappeared into the kitchen, Joan heard a quiet, "You can't promise that."


	6. Chapter 6

Hello Everyone! First off, I'm so sorry it's been ages since I posted and then I forgot to do one of these notes for those of you who read them on my last chapter. Sorry! I'm back and hopefully will be more consistent with updating my stories. Second, a few people had mentioned my rating (M) was too high. I just want to point out that I'm not a writer that just jumps straight into love scenes or smut. The story must progress, but I'm certain that it will get there, so I'm leaving it as an M rating for future content. I want to say a big THANK YOU to all of you who have reviewed so kindly about the story, my version of the characters, and my skill as a writer. I appreciate each comment and love you all. You're the reason I keep updating. I hope you enjoy this addition.

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Joan had expected Sherlock to sulk for a day or two after their altercation, but to her surprise he acted as if there had never been any dissension at all. At first, she was relieved. It wasn't until nearly a week had passed that she realized that he was also refusing to acknowledge the existence of the clinic and, in particular, Dr. Michael Banner. Any time Joan mentioned one or the other, Sherlock would change the subject or ignore her comment. After this dawned on Joan, she began to bring them up more often in order to test her hypothesis. It became increasingly evident that she was right.

"I'm headed to work. I'll be home around 6:30." She said, to which he replied, "Be a dear and run by the grocers for some milk while you're out."

"Michael and I are going out to dinner tonight. Do you need me to do anything before I leave?" Silence, supplemented by Sherlock's refusal to look at her, was the only response. "Sherlock?" Looking up as if he'd only just heard her. "I'm sorry Watson, were you speaking to me?"

Joan couldn't decide what to do. She was annoyed at his childish behavior, but she couldn't find a logical reason for the way he was acting. There was no way she could confront him; he would deny everything and act as though she was being paranoid. Joan was fairly certain that it wouldn't help anything, so she chose to let it be. _Hopefully he'll get over whatever it is soon._

While Joan was dealing with the adolescent temper tantrums of her housemate, she was finding new enjoyment in her work. Once she'd finally finished with all the back files, it had fallen to her to do all the restocking of the exam rooms. That had been especially vexing to her. But when that was done, Dr. Susan Branchini (a doctor who worked at the clinic part time because she still ran an OB/GYN) asked her to sit in on several patient visits with her. "Joan, my specialty has been pregnant women for nearly twenty years. Working here has helped sharpen my general practitioner skills, but sometimes patients come in and I haven't an iota of an idea as to what is wrong with them. Michael says you are a gifted diagnostician."

Although she had been reticent to agree at first, Joan couldn't help but relish the opportunity to use her old craft. It didn't hurt that the patients were so grateful. As a surgeon, Joan only spent a limited amount of time with each person she worked on. Now, she interacted much more freely with each man and woman who came through the doors. It was refreshing.

After one particularly satisfying day, Joan arrived home to find Sherlock chained and locked to a chair. He was sitting in the middle of the room and everything had been cleared away, leaving him with no way to get to any tools. It wouldn't have mattered as his arms were handcuffed behind him; a chain wrapped around his arms and was padlocked at his chest. He looked equal parts angry and bored. "Ah, Watson, there you are! I've been sitting here for quite some time. I've lost all feeling in my left hand. Would you be so kind as to get me out of this?"

Once Joan had seen him she'd rushed over, but seeing all the locks made her stop. "What am I supposed to do? I can't pick locks! What happened?!" She was confused, shocked; how had Sherlock Holmes allowed himself to be hog tied?

"I gave you two books about locks; I believe one was called _Lock Picking for Dummies_. I also offered to teach you some techniques that I find particularly helpful. If you had spared even a few moments of your precious time to concentrate on the work _you_ claim you want to do then we would not find ourselves in this predicament." Sighing, Sherlock began struggling against the chains that held him.

Even though she was annoyed at his criticisms, Joan had to admit that he was right. But that didn't mean that it was entirely her fault. "How did you end up in this mess any way?" Circling him, she tried to figure out where to start first. "Stop moving. You'll wrench an arm out of the socket or worse."

"I can't bloody well wait for you, now can I?" Joan was half ready to leave him there, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away no matter how frustrated she was. Instead, she moved to the table that had been pushed against one wall and began searching through the assortment of tools. "What should I use for the big one on your chest?"

It took some doing, and a lot of coaching from Holmes, but Joan finally got two of the three chains unlocked. She was working on the last one, which held his feet to the chair legs and locked around his waist. He was in a much better mood now and Joan felt this might be her best moment to find out what had happened. Looking up at him for a brief moment, she saw his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as her fingers worked at the lock. He noticed that she had stopped and quirked an eyebrow at her in question. "What happened, Sherlock?" His eyes snapped back on the lock. "You're just about there…best keep your concentration."

Only a few more moments passed before the lock snapped open with a satisfying 'clink'. He was still in handcuffs, but he motioned for the pick and she handed it over. He worked as he spoke. "I am aware that you believe someone broke in and overpowered me. The creases in your brow indicated how worried you were, while your hesitancy to demand the details of what occurred tell me that you believed I would be angry at having been subjugated in such a manner and you were, therefore, trying to spare my feelings. I do appreciate those impulses, Watson, but you needn't have been so concerned." By this time Sherlock had shucked his restraints and was mounting the stairs quickly. Joan was hot on his heels, anxious to hear the story.

Sherlock strode into the bathroom and commenced unbuckling his belt, all the while still spinning his tale. "What the hell! Sherlock!" Joan put her hand out in a stop signal. "What? I've been chained to a chair for nearly four hours." Instead of answering or trying to argue with him, Joan just shut the door. "Alright. Go ahead." She said.

"It was supposed to be your homework. I gave you a week to read those books; I asked you every day if you wanted to work on your lock picking skills. You had enough time to become adequate. I must say that you did quite well for someone who did none of their assigned coursework." Joan would have stormed into the room and smacked him until his head turned 360̊ on his neck except that she knew what he was doing in there. A thousand warring desires fought inside her; when Sherlock opened the door she was nowhere to be seen.

The house was dark and cold; Joan lay in bed, but couldn't get comfortable. She was just about to get up when Sherlock knocked. He let himself in without waiting for her invitation. _Typical._ "Joan." The name sounded foreign on his lips. He was nervous; each finger drummed against his legs, beating out a time only he knew. "I'm sorry that I upset you. It took me a while, as you know social interaction is not my specialty, but I concluded that you were angry because I deceived you. I apologize, but I can not imagine a better way to test your skills." By this time Sherlock had paced the length of the room twice before coming to stop at the foot of Joan's bed.

She knew he was being as forthright as was possible for him, but she was still angry. She felt like a fool. "The fact that you tricked me hurt, but more so because I truly believed that you had been in danger; that we were both still in jeopardy. I was scared, but you never even considered my feelings." Climbing out of bed, Joan stalked towards him, finger pointing until it found purchase on his chest.

The touch seemed to have a chilling effect. Neither of them moved for what seemed like a long time; both of them were staring at the place of contact. Sherlock placed his hand over hers causing it to flatten against him. She felt the scratchy wool of his sweater and a warmth that seemed to radiate from underneath. Finally, finally, she pulled away and they looked at each other with a new wariness. "Come have tea, Watson. It will help you sleep." He turned and walked away without a second look.

When they were settled on the couch with their hands wrapped around their respective warm cups of tea, Joan broached the topic she couldn't help but wonder about. "If it was just a test, how did you get chained up in the first place?" He grinned at her, eyes twinkling. "It's a very long story, Watson." His long fingers tapped the sides of the mug. "I'm not going anywhere." Joan replied.


End file.
